Family Ties
by SiobhanP
Summary: Mrs. Cohen expects Mark to attend the family's Thanksgiving, and even though Roger has the choice, he ends up going as well. Chaos and hilarity ensues.


Mark moaned and tipped his head back, his hands pawing at Roger's back in a futile attempt to find purchase there. He felt sharp teeth sink into his newly exposed flesh and his knees buckled. Roger just pressed closer to him, pinning him against the wall with his body to keep him upright without ever moving his mouth from Mark's neck. Mark whimpered when one of the marks Roger was leaving was just a little too painful, but it didn't take long to mix with pleasure, and he melted a little more, digging his nails into Roger's back. Finally, Roger pulled away and made for his lips, wanting something more responsive to kiss, but Mark stopped him, pressing a finger to his lips and explaining in a hoarse voice, "I'm barely standing here."

Roger grinned, a cocky look that made it plain he was crediting Mark's weak knees to his own prowess, and grabbed him about the waist, reversing their position so that Mark was sprawled out rather more securely against Roger's front, half sitting on his thigh. Roger used the wall to his advantage, using it to support Mark's weight without any actual effort on his part. Once they were comfortable again, Roger started right where he'd left off, pressing his lips against Mark's so hard Mark choked a little, caught in the middle of a breath. But his next thought was something like, 'Well, who needs air, anyway?' and he pressed back, taking advantage of the fact that Roger was the one against the wall, now, so forceful and hurried that Roger's head hit the wall with a loud thump.

Roger jerked away from the kiss instinctively, cursing breathlessly, "Fuck. I don't like this wall shit. They make it look a lot easier in the movies."

"Roger," Mark whined desperately, not wanting him to get distracted, as he was infamous for doing at the least opportune moments, "I swear to God, I'll shoot a fucking documentary on how hard it is later, just don't leave me hanging here."

Roger chuckled throatily, a sultry sound, and Mark pouted, eyes entreating him to follow up. Roger saw it and smirked, covering for his inability to refuse with a demanding façade. "Back to the wall, and stand up straight," he ordered, and Mark looked confused before climbing off of him and obliging. "I want you to stay like that," he said mildly, and Mark had no idea why he said it as if he were issuing a challenge. Until he felt Roger's fingers at the buttons of his shirt, very deliberately brushing against his skin as he undid the buttons.

"Please don't," Mark whimpered breathily, but it wasn't very convincing because he couldn't muster any conviction. Roger ignored him and attached his mouth to one of Mark's nipples, making him hiss and blurt, "Please!"

Roger laughed, and he was trying to seem composed, but Mark's words had gone straight to his head, and his voice held a tell-tale rasp when he teased, "Make up your mind."

Mark knew if he really wanted to he could turn their game around, that it wouldn't take much more than a certain look in his eyes and a hand thrust between Roger's legs, but there was a hand working on his fly, and he couldn't find the strength to do it.

All of a sudden, the contact was gone, and Mark almost felt cold for it. "Uh, Mark…" Roger began, and even though he sounded a little uncomfortable Mark kept his eyes closed, ignored it, and whined again, trying to pull Roger against him.

Then Mark heard the giggling. It was a female voice, familiar but not one he'd heard recently, and his eyes shot open at the same time he thought he might vomit. "Cindy," he croaked disbelievingly, turning his head to see his sister standing at their door, Collins beside her, trying very unsuccessfully to contain his laughter and holding up the key to the loft. That explained how she'd gotten in, he thought miserably.

"Hi, Cindy," Roger blurted in a too-loud, sugary voice. He coughed, his expression and his tone darkening as he said, "Collins? Could I see you in my room for a minute?"

Cindy snorted, and though she still looked a little pale, her voice was biting when she asked, "What, didn't get to finish up with my little brother so now you're jumping him?" Mark groaned. Cindy and Roger hadn't seen each other since high school, but, apparently, the old enmity remained. Roger might have let their history go if not for her remark.

"Do what you came for and get the fuck out of my house," Roger replied shortly, dragging Collins by the wrist in the direction of his bedroom. "Mark…" Roger looked at him a little longer, clearly aching to say something, but he didn't, just mouthed "love you" so quickly Mark was fairly sure only he'd caught it.

Cindy glared. "I have a right to see my brother, crack head."

Mark winced. It was the same moniker she'd given him in high school, but it was bound to cut deeper now. Roger's poison of choice might not have been crack, but it wasn't as if heroin was any better. Roger's shoulders tightened, but he continued retreating with Collins in tow.

He was in his bedroom before he replied, "Smack, actually, and you'll fucking leave when I want. You're here for Mark; it's the only reason you're still here." Then he slammed his door. Mark was left staring at Cindy with his hair and clothing askew, to say nothing of the purple marks that began at his collarbone and made a trail up to his jaw.

To his surprise, his sister collapsed into giggles, as if she'd never seen anything more hysterical in her life. "He really hasn't changed, has he?" she asked once she had the breath to do so. She frowned. "I think I actually pissed him off, though."

Mark snorted, trying to surreptitiously fix his clothing. "You think? Jesus, Cindy, what the fuck'd he do to you?"

Cindy smirked, "I think I'm the one who gets to ask that question now, actually. What was that? Wasn't he seeing some stripper?"

"Mimi's been dead a year and more," Mark said softly. "And watch your fucking mouth. Don't think you can just waltz into my life and start a running commentary."

Cindy snorted. "A running commentary?" she blurted, the pitch of her voice rising with each syllable. "Mark, you live in an industrial loft with no heat, hardly any electricity, no food… I don't know if you've noticed, but that guy who had his hand down your pants when I walked in? Happens to be a junkie with HIV. Talk about tempting fate!"

Mark clenched his jaw. "He hasn't used in almost two years," he said shortly. "And the HIV… is none of your business. I don't want to end up on bad terms with you, Cindy, so could we drop it and you could tell me why you came?"

"So like you, Mark," she scoffed, all but ignoring him. "Such a romantic. Soon as it's something you love, you won't hear anything bad about it. Doesn't matter whether it was running off here, your lifestyle… Him. Especially him; but hey, on the bright side, you've finally got Mom sold. Blamed him for everything you did she didn't like for more than ten years, now all of a sudden it's: 'Oh, Cindy, could you please go and invite your brother and that lovely boyfriend of his for Thanksgiving?'"

Mark choked, and he didn't know which problem to address first. The fact that it sounded as if his attendance was being demanded at a family event, or that, given Cindy's mimicking tone, it sounded as if his mother had actually begun referring to Roger as his boyfriend. Might have been true, but as far as he knew, he'd never given his mother any reason to think so. "Cindy…" he croaked finally, not knowing what to say.

She shook her head, looking sad. "Oh, Mark," she sighed, and even though he was less than happy with her, he found himself returning a hug. "I can't lie and say I understand, but… You were always the brave one, Mark. Took everyone's expectations and sent them to hell. Roger's no different, except for one thing: he at least can love you back. Your art, your lifestyle… that's all risk without a hell of a lot of return. At least he cares back. I talk, Mark, but if you're happy… it'll be enough for Mom and I, at least. But I can't promise I won't kill him if he hurts you or gets you sick."

Mark flinched. She'd been doing well, then she had to go and remind him why he rarely willingly saw his family. "Not exactly like he can control it," he grit out, thrusting his fists into his pockets. "We do our best, but if it happens, it does, and it's not his fault."

"He got himself sick, didn't he?"

"Well, yeah. And you know what else? He got himself hooked on heroin, he got himself expelled from high school, he broke up his fucking band… So what, Cindy?" Mark challenged. "At some point, someone needs to stand up and say that maybe he shouldn't spend the rest of his life suffering for a few mistakes. It took him long enough just deciding that for himself. And look, I'll go. I'll ask him if he will, though I'm not exactly going to encourage it. But it's because I know I'll never hear the end of it if I don't, and if anyone says one word to him, so help me God…"

Cindy sighed, "Well, I guess he needs someone, and it's always been you anyway, so if it makes you happy… Good enough." She agreed. "House is in the same place it always was, Thanksgiving dinner's the same time and the same day. I guess I can get out of your hair now. But Mark? It really was good seeing you in one piece. And as much as I don't get it, I'm glad you two have each other. Really." She sighed again and handed him a hundred dollar bill. Mark moved to return it, but Cindy let it flutter to the floor and walked to the door. "Mom says to feed yourselves. See you this weekend."

"Yeah, bye," Mark agreed quietly. Cindy left and the door slammed behind her. After a moment, Mark knelt to retrieve the money and then headed towards Roger's room.

Collins was cackling so hard he was wiping tears from his eyes, and Roger had a face like thunder. "What did she want?" he demanded irritably.

"Mom wants us to come to Thankgiving dinner," Mark explained hesitantly. "I'm pretty much stuck, but you don't have to."

Roger shrugged. "Well, long as we're seeing your mom and not mine, I'll take free food."

Mark winced. That was roughly the response he'd been expecting. "Well, look… if you want to go, there's something you should know."

"They know," Collins said, and it took Mark a moment to realize he was telling Roger exactly what Mark had meant to. "Cindy knows a lot more than you think about you, Mark. She's your sister, and she cares about you, so there were certain things I thought she had the right to know."

"You outed me to my sister," Mark said slowly, in a flat, uncomprehending tone. "You outed me to my sister when you know she can't stand Roger."

"First off, I didn't out you to your sister," Collins said calmly, grinning a little. "One little Miss Nanette Himmelfarb did that when she saw you two making out behind the school the night of your senior prom. Kind of ironic, considering it was only because you were drunk off your asses. Cindy just kept quiet. Secondly, as far as you two go? I told her because she was worried. And not about you, either, about him." Collins indicated Roger with a jerk of his thumb. "She just kept going on about how "someone had to get Mark to do something to help him," so I told her you were. If that explanation happened to include the fact you two now share a bed, well, that was just me being honest. And besides," Collins paused at that word to wipe another few tears from his eyes and chuckle. "I'm pretty sure you just did a damn good job of outing yourself. Don't look at Roger, either, he tried warning you."

Mark turned on Roger, looking desperate. "You're just okay with all of this?"

Roger shrugged. "Not my family, Mark. It's your call. If you don't wanna go, about the worst thing your mom can do is—"

"Show up at our door," Mark interrupted. "And if she actually sent Cindy to invite us, she'll do it. It would be easier to go, unfortunately. Unless you want to hear about how we're starving, living in squalor, how you shouldn't live here because you're…" Mark caught himself. "…because she doesn't understand."

"Because I'm sick, Mark," Roger corrected patiently. "It's okay, I know you know better, and I know that's how she'd think."

Mark doubted that he really did "know better." If he had his way, Roger would have been somewhere a lot warmer where he'd have been far better nourished, but their cash flow had improved lately, and things were better than they'd been in years. They had a small, ancient air conditioner for the summer, and they could usually afford to pay for heat in winter. If they still subsisted largely on dry cereal, it was mostly force of habit, and they often chose takeout from the Life over their own lacklustre cooking. They would be fine, and they knew it. How Mark's mother would feel was another thing entirely. She'd never seen their loft, but Mark was sure that their home would be the most impoverished place his mother had ever elected to go near. Scarsdale's idea of poverty was rather rosier than the reality.

"So we'll go," Roger decided for him, quietly. He reached out and wrapped his arms around Mark's waist, pulling him half-willing into his lap. "Don't worry, Mark, it'll be okay, and at least she'll leave you alone until Hanukkah if you do. And the worst she'll do then is call, I think she's starting to catch onto the meaning of the word atheist."

Mark sighed, turning in Roger's lap and resting his head against his chest. "I hope you're right," he murmured, sounding sleepy and miserable as Roger's thumb stroked rhythmically up and down the back of his neck.

Roger forced a smile, even though Mark didn't see it. "Hey, of course I'm right," he cajoled, dropping a kiss on his head. "I'm always right."

Collins snickered once, low in his throat, then said softly, "They can't begrudge you this, Mark. Not if they care like I know Cindy does. You two… just fix each other. Could be the end of the world; you guys would just look at each other, shrug, and open your arms."

"Like you and Angel," Roger finished for him in a mumble. He wasn't sure he believed it – he loved Mark to death, but Angel and Collins had had something like he'd never seen. But whether he believed it or not, he knew the point Collins was trying to make but was unable to put to words, and he knew Mark would find some sort of comfort in it. "Like… anyone who's in love."

Collins snickered. "Nice blush, Davis," he teased. Roger gave him the finger and turned pinker still. Mark laughed.

"You know, I always thought all those girls who swarmed you just thought you looked good in leather pants," Mark remarked offhandedly. "Imagine their surprise when you turn out to be a diehard romantic."

Roger's face was rather strategically hidden behind Mark's shoulder, and he looked as if he was ready to die of embarrassment, but he still managed to retort, "That's just the special cases, and you know it."

"Huh. Flattery," Mark murmured consideringly, his eyes dancing. Then he laughed and slapped Roger on the back. "Good job."

"Oh, and Cohen stops an inch from the jugular," Collins narrated, imitating a sportscaster. "Which just proves you don't need to be talking, either. All he hadda do was look at you and say something nice and you folded like a wet paper bag."

Roger shook his head. "Yeah, well, at least we give and take. Angel was a hell of a girl, but she owned you and you know it."

Collins smiled placidly. "Did I ever deny it?" he asked smugly. "Besides, it was usually because she was right. You'd do better if you listened more to Mark."

Mark smiled and laughed, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, "Oh, he does; he just complains."

"Yeah, just in case I decide to stop taking my AZT or eating to prove a stupid point," Roger pointed out sarcastically. "Not like you ask much."

"Mm," Mark made a small noise of agreement. "To be fair, I never really have to ask about the big stuff."

"Like not bending you over the dinner table on Sunday, thereby killing half your family with shock?" Roger suggested wryly.

Mark grinned. "I was thinking more along the lines of going in the first place, but sure."

"So, who's up for a shopping trip?" Collins asked cheerily. "Get some food up in here and get you kids something to wear for the big introduction."

"Collins, we're broke," Mark tried to protest, knowing it was in vain. He wasn't lying, either. Yes, they had the money Cindy had given him, but that would be tucked away, if not for heat or food then for Christmas presents.

"I'm not, and I'm not gonna spend it otherwise. 'Sides, can't have mommy thinking you don't have clothes, can you?"

"Fine," Mark conceded, sighing and moving off of Roger's lap. "Just let me get…" he trailed off, rubbing one of the marks on his neck self-consciously. "Get dress… get these covered up," he finished finally, retreating out of the room. He ignored Collins and Roger's uproarious laughter as he left to search for his makeup.


End file.
